


mainline

by sonatine



Series: coffee shop verse [1]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Nanny Steve, barista Bucky, coffee shop AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2016-06-18
Packaged: 2018-07-14 17:49:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7184012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonatine/pseuds/sonatine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A perpetually sleep-deprived Steve keeps showing up at Bucky's hole-in-the-wall coffee shop at the crack of dawn</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [mainline](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9790181) by [WTFStarbucks2017](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WTFStarbucks2017/pseuds/WTFStarbucks2017)
  * Translation into Русский available: [mainline](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10408839) by [DrWinter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrWinter/pseuds/DrWinter)



The thing about kids is: they distort time. When Steve arrives at the coffee shop to find it _not yet open_ , he just stares stupidly at the closed door. The baby on his hip babbles—softly, for now. He didn't even bring the carrier.

A long-haired man comes to stand beside him and Steve says, “Oh—sorry—I don't think they're open yet, I'm a dumbass—”

“Long night?” the guy says, looking amused.

Steve smiles wanly because, yeah, it was, but not in the way that this frankly beautiful guy is implying. Between the still-slightly-sweaty hair pulled back into a ponytail, the clingy musk of cigarette smoke, and the, oh lord is that mascara? his lashes are so _long—_ everything about him screams ‘just rolling home from a rollicking night out.’

“Don’t worry,” the guy says, jangling an industrial grade keyring clipped to his belt loop, “I got ya covered.”

He unlocks the grate and slides it open. Steve and the baby both breathe a sigh of relief.

+

“So what can I get you?” the guy asks, flipping on the lights. “Something with a couple dozen extra shots?”

“Just a black coffee,” Steve says, because he's not made of money and also because this guy is opening up half an hour early for him. “Listen, I'll go wait outside and let you open up in peace—”

“Not gonna kick a dude with a baby out on the street,” the guy says, eyes crinkling, as he efficiently goes about the opening process.

+

Steve is waiting outside the hole in the wall coffee shop again. It opens at 7am and it’s 6:51, so only nine, no, eight minutes now. Steve has a head full of concrete from finishing a commission until 3 and waking up at 5 to get to this nannying gig in time. He knows from experience that if doesn't get caffeine into his system soon, the infant shriek will chip at his skull like a finely tuned scalpel.

“Bro,” the guy says, “again? I'm gonna take this as a compliment.”

He is being kind, for Steve is sitting directly on the sidewalk with the baby chilling in his lap. He meant to stand up in a few minutes so that he would appear less down-and-out when the barista arrived, but this is the current state of things and what's done is done.

Steve shrugs and expertly gets to his feet while supporting the baby and keeping his back straight. “You should. Coffee’s good.”

“And I'm the only place that opens before nine in this neighborhood,” the guy says, opening the gates and ushering Steve inside.

“That does help,” Steve admits, again getting a whiff of cigarette smoke and general club aroma. It's a Thursday morning which, okay, maybe people with actual social lives go out on Wednesday nights, but Steve doesn't know how this guy is managing to pull an all-nighter and then roll into work directly after.

“You can make me wait outside, for real, until seven,” Steve says. “I don't want you to get in trouble with your boss or anything.”

“I am the boss,” the guy says, lips quirking.

“Oh,” Steve says, floored. “Sorry, I just—” _thought you were way too young to own your own business,_ “Sleep deprived, you know?”

“It's cool,” the guy says. He's staring at the baby on Steve’s hip with an odd look, but then gestures to a barstool. “Have a seat. Gonna get you this new thing I've just concocted. Mainline caffeine.”

“Oh, I—” Steve’s been living on a tight budget for years but he still hasn't figured out the politest way to say _I really appreciate your kind gesture but please just give me whatever’s cheapest because I'm broke_. He instead smiles, figures he’ll make it work, and says, “Thanks.”

 

The lady whose kid he nannies for on Tuesdays and Thursdays flew out her front door this morning saying, “Oh the coffee machine’s broken— hope that's not a problem!”

“Not at all,” Steve said sunnily, dying inside.

 

“Here ya go,” the guy says, pushing a mug across the counter to Steve. “On the house. And I'll get your black coffee started now.”

“Oh—thanks,” Steve says, a real smile breaking through his exhaustion. The baby slaps its hands contentedly on the counter and Steve downs the mug. “Holy shit, you weren't kidding.”

“I do know a thing or two about coffee,” the guy says. “I'm Bucky, by the way. Owner. Founder. Patron saint of the tired and the desperate.”

“I'll worship you till the end of the line if you keep making these,” Steve says, and he thinks he’s not imagining that Bucky’s eyes darken. “Bet this makes opening a hell of a lot easier.”

“Sure,” Bucky says. He helps himself to a cup of coffee and leans against the counter. “Though I have someone come take over for me at ten, so I get to go straight home and crash.”

“Ah,” Steve says, fitting the puzzle pieces together. “Bartender?”

Bucky shakes his head. “Bouncer,” and yeah, Steve can see that now: everything from Bucky’s stance to the way he’s built screams ex-military.

“Less crowded,” says Steve, which doesn't exactly make sense out loud, without his internal commentary, but Bucky smiles wanly.

“Yeah. Exactly.”

The baby spits up the remainder of its breakfast then and is very put out about it. Steve gets to his feet and hoists the baby onto his shoulder, patting his back soothingly.

Bucky passes him some napkins but Steve waves him off. “Don't worry about it,” he says, and tosses down the burp cloth slung around his neck. “Way more absorbent.”

“ _Dude_ ,” Bucky says, “you know what kind of germs are on this counter? Gross,” and Steve laughs.

“Keep it,” he says. This lady insists on throwing away burp cloths daily and buying a whole new round when a box is gone instead of throwing them in the washer. Steve’s given up trying to understand the minds of rich people.

The baby starts fussing in earnest now in a way that suggests nap time is imminent. Steve grabs his to-go coffee and forks over some cash. “Thanks,” he says. “See you next time.”

“I hope so,” says Bucky, and his eyes follow Steve on his way out, giving him a hopeful jolt.

+

It's a few weeks until Steve sees Bucky again. He stops by the shop mid-morning one day, when a three-month-old _would not stop fussing_ unless Steve was holding him and in constant motion, but there is a redheaded woman behind the counter instead. Steve tries to ignore the way disappointment settles in his stomach and orders in a carrying whisper.

The woman eyes the baby with a professional air. “Three months?”

“Yeah.”

“Won't quiet unless you're holding him?”

“Yeah.”

“You tried sitting him on top of the dryer?”

“Family doesn't has one.”

“Ouch,” the redhead says and definitely slips an extra shot into his coffee. Steve likes this place more and more.

+

He manages to wait until 7:15 after a 5:30 start, which feels like mid-afternoon with a teething infant.

“Hey,” Bucky says, straightening from where he was lounging behind the counter. Except for a few customers rushing out with their to-go cups, the place is empty. “How's it going?”

“Little rough this morning,” Steve says with a grin, because he has _the stupidest crush_ , “but nothing coffee can't fix.”

Bucky is giving the baby a strange look again, but starts up a new brew of dark roast. “What's this little dude’s name?”

“Her name is—” and Steve has to stop to think because he’s forgotten for a moment what day it is, “Brynlee. This is Brynlee,” because, again, rich white people.

“Shit man, how many kids you got?” Bucky says. “I mean, that's definitely a different baby, right?”

“Oh, they aren't _mine_ ,” Steve near-shouts, the sudden comprehension making him laugh. Brynlee startles against his chest. “I'm a nanny,” he explains, and now Bucky is helplessly giggling too.

“So all those muscles are from lifting kids all day?” he says. “Pretty good method.”

“Yeah, and they pay _me_ for the workout.”

Steve stays and chats for a bit but then the morning rush starts and Brynlee’s mom calls him in a panic because she has an hour break at work and wants Steve to come down to the office to meet her so she can see the baby for fifteen minutes.

He rushes off, waving goodbye in his wake, but Bucky’s busy with a customer and doesn't see.

+

Steve gets a call from an unknown number a few days later when he's actually at home and he’s in a decent mood, so he picks up instead of letting it go to voicemail.

“Uh hey,” the guy on the other end of the line says. “My friend Clint recommended you—you revamped all his branding last year? Uh, basically I'm looking for a new logo and new business cards. And signage. And digital versions of all that, if you do that too.”

“Sure,” Steve says. “I can do mostly everything.”

“A jack-of-all-trades, huh,” and his voice is warm and nice and Steve hesitates a moment, because it sounds so familiar. “Well, good. I run a coffee shop down on—”

“Bucky?” Steve interrupts and there's a pause on the other side of the phone.

“Is this the hot nanny? _I mean—_ oh god, I'm a disaster,” and Steve just laughs because he realizes he’s never told Bucky his name.

“Yeah, it's me. It's Steve,” he says.

“Well, Steve,” says Bucky, and Steve can hear the smile even through the phone, “why don't you come over for a cup of coffee and we can talk about this in person.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tumblr link](http://sonatine.tumblr.com/post/145816672229/hi-yes-im-very-angry-about-my-hometown-so-have-a)


	2. Chapter 2

Steve hates first dates. And second dates. And all dating, really, because it takes so much  _effort_ and time: both of which he doesn’t have much to spare.

Which is why he feels fine as he’s getting on the subway that’ll take him to Bucky’s coffee shop. It's not a date; it's technically a business meeting. The social guidelines are different and Steve won't be expected to be at his best or charming.

Bucky has left the door unlocked and the lights on, even though the sign is flipped to ‘closed.’ He breaks into curling smile and slides a mug across the counter as Steve walks in.

“On the house,” Bucky teases and the fact that neither he nor Steve find it strange to be ingesting caffeine at 8pm puts Steve at ease. His lifestyle isn't really conducive with so many of his Monday-Friday 9-5 friends (or former partners).

“You going to work soon?” Steve asks.

“Yeah, in about an hour. Right down the street though. You?”

“Not till tomorrow evening—got the whole day off.”

“Nice.” Bucky’s sitting on a barstool on the opposite side of the counter and when he leans forward their arms almost touch. Steve does a double-take.

“Not your fault,” Bucky says lightly. “You've never seen me in short sleeves before.”

“It's so cool,” Steve breathes before he realizes how that sounds. “Not that—I'm sure it was not great—I just meant the technology itself is amazing—”

Bucky’s eyes are crinkling up. Steve is realizing he has a mild obsession with them: they're just so expressive in a way that many people aren't, even with words. “S’okay, I knew what you meant. It is pretty cool. Cutting-edge tech.”

“Are you on a trial for it?”

“Yep.” Bucky takes a large gulp from his mug. “It's a good deal. I got it for free and I only have to go in for tests and eval once a month.”

“Does it have biofeedback?”

Bucky looks a bit hesitant, so Steve rushes: “It's okay if you can't say. Is there some kind of non-disclosure agreement?”

“Stark Tech likes to cover their ass,” Bucky neatly sidesteps, “even if their CEO doesn't care about covering his.”

Steve splutters into his mug.

“I met the guy once,” Bucky continues, looking pleased. “It's weird. He _sounds_ like an asshole, but the meaning behind the words are kind.”

“Even with good intentions, you can still be an asshole,” Steve says.

Bucky smiles like Steve’s just said something funny. “Maybe. So let me run this plan by you.”

+

Bucky is decisive and clear about what he wants, and open to suggestion where so many of Steve’s clients are stubborn.

Which is why Steve is surprised and let down when Bucky shakes his hand, promises to send over the initial payment by the next day, and then leaves for work without so much as asking for Steve’s number.

+

Steve holds out until the next week. He texts Clint, _Hey got a question for your coffee shop friend about his commission, you mind giving me his number?_

Because Clint is Clint, it takes him five hours to respond. _Uh-huh_ , is all he says, followed by a phone number attachment, and surely it's just Steve’s sensitivity that the message sounds smug.

It's nearing on 8pm, which means Bucky will be heading to work soon (oh god, Steve has it so bad; he knows his schedule) so Steve dials the number immediately.

It rings indefinitely and Steve almost drops the idea altogether; but Bucky picks up on the last ring, sounding like he's underwater.

“Oh, sorry—did I wake you?”

“Just a nap. Long day. Glad you called, actually, probably would have overslept otherwise.”

“My pleasure,” Steve jokes. Then he realizes: “Oh, uh, this is Steve. The—Steve Rogers.” He chokes on the phrase ‘the nanny’, remembering Bucky’s last description of him.

“I know,” says Bucky, sounding amused. “Clint messaged me your number. Thought you were gonna call hours ago.”

“Really? I mean, I just got yours like a minute ago.” Steve mentally kicks himself as to how desperate that sounds, but Bucky just snorts.

“Sounds like Barton. Anyway, what's up?”

“Oh right—just wanted to run a couple of things by you for the design. You near a computer? Can I send you some samples?”

“Sure,” Bucky says, and then before Steve knows it, there’s a burst of background noise and then Bucky’s voice dims down to tunnel-level.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, just walking to work.”

“Oh man, sorry—you should've kicked me off the phone.”

“No need. Just had to put on pants and grab my keys. Don't need much for this gig. Just my scary face.”

“I doubt you have one,” Steve says and is so, so glad this is a voice and not video call so Bucky can't see how hot under the collar he is at the thought of Bucky _talking to Steve while in his boxers_.

“Then you would be wrong. I'm a scary motherfucker.”

“Think you're just full of it, actually.”

Bucky huffs a quiet laugh. “Yeah maybe. All right—I gotta hang up now.”

“Yeah go work, ya lazy bum.”

“Shut it,” Bucky says warmly, and there’s the sound of him greeting someone—a coworker maybe? “Stop by and see me sometime,” he says and hangs up before Steve can respond.

Steve stares at his lock screen, stomach flipping. He didn't really mean that, did he? That’s just something people say?

He saves his work a couple hours later, gulps down some instant noodles, and goes to bed feeling restless.

+

Steve is nannying for a new family on the weekend—a friend of Brynlee’s mom—who specifies that she just wants a sitter on Saturdays for her toddler while she takes her older kids to various activities.

“The owners are getting tired of him running around the waiting areas of the dojo and ballet studio,” the mom says, laughing self-deprecatingly as the toddler winds in and out around her legs, “and honestly I think he’ll have much more fun hanging out with you. Christine speaks really highly of you.”

Steve smiles and takes the job because she seems low key, as mothers go, and the kid is nice.

“I'll text you an address to meet me at around five, if that's okay,” she says before leaving with the two older kids, “so that you can bring all three home and start dinner. I'm going to run some errands and be home by seven at least.”

Steve turns the ringer on his phone and spends an okay afternoon with the toddler, Kale (naturally), at the playground and the park. Kale is smart and sneaky but minds him well, and has lost all of the new-adult shyness by the time Steve gets the text with a maps attachment. Kale chatters to him animatedly as they head to the address—which is definitely on the street of Bucky’s coffee shop.

Steve’s mouth jumps into his throat as he realizes just which building is number 616. Kale grabs his hand as they walk into the coffee shop, using Steve’s strength to better leverage his jumps.

It is, of course, not Natasha but Bucky behind the counter this afternoon. Then again, Steve’s never been in on a Saturday before. Bucky is in a tank-top because of the heat wave and his hair is in a tidy bun and Steve mainly wants to die. The mom and two kids are sitting at a table against the wall, just across from the counter.

Bucky catches sight of him. His eyes widen, then do the crinkle thing, and then a slow smile spreads across his face and Steve wishes to God that he hadn’t inherited the blushing gene.

“Hey Kale,” Bucky says, “who's this?”

“This is _Steve_ ,” Kale says witheringly, unimpressed at Bucky’s ignorance. “Do you have any hot chocolate today?”

Kale’s mom catches Bucky’s eye and mouths, _NO SUGAR_ , so Bucky says, “Afraid not, champ. It's too hot for hocho today. You'd probably melt.”

“Like a snowman,” Steve says hastily, watching a tantrum threatening to form on Kale’s face. “How bout some ice chips instead, bud? You can eat half of them. And then we can have a contest to see who can spit them farther,” he adds in a whisper so the mom can't hear. “On the street.”

Kale considers this and deems it an acceptable alternative. Bucky gets two cups of ice ready and hands them to Steve with a look that should probably be illegal.

“ _Thank_ you,” the mom whispers gratefully. “I'll be home around seven. Be good for Steve,” she tells her kids and then trills, “ _Bye_ James.”

Bucky lazily waves goodbye. Steve stuffs a couple of bills into the tip jar and then gathers up the kids to bring them home before Bucky can pull him into conversation. He turns and smiles as he leaves, though, so Bucky knows he's not—mad?—and isn't sure if Bucky looks disappointed or not.

The ice chip spitting contest is a big hit and occupies the three kids the entire walk home, which is good because they forget to complain about how hot and hungry they are, but bad because it gives Steve plenty of time to brood.

Because he’d forgotten that the number-one rule of retail or service industries is to flirt with the customers. It's good for business, it makes people feel special, and everyone's a winner. Steve worked enough sales jobs in high school and college to know the truth behind this.

But now he panics because what if his crush _is_ one-sided and Bucky was just laying on the standard sales charm? Every mother in the coffee shop was clearly in love with him. And who wouldn't be?

Although Bucky did call him hot. And explicitly introduced himself by his nickname. And told Steve to ‘stop by anytime’ and visit him at work.

Steve is more than happy to arrive at the kids’ brownstone and start dinner. He is 100% certain that this is a ‘no screen time’ household and has the kids play I-Spy and Simon Says with him over dinner until the mom returns home.

+

Steve lets two weeks pass before he gets tired of mentally beating himself up. He’ll be delivering Bucky’s commission tomorrow and then he’ll be out of excuses. He tells himself be brave, which is ridiculous for a kid that spent the better part of his childhood getting into fights with people literally three times his size, but somehow this feels monumentally more terrifying.

He saves his current project, throws on some sneakers, and heads to the street with the coffee shop. He doesn't actually know which bar Bucky works at, but a) he knows it's nearby and b) maybe by the time he’s wandered around the block he won’t want to throw up anymore.

It's 11pm on a Thursday and surprisingly easy to follow the sound of a crowd outside in the patio area. Sure enough, there is Bucky manning the door and Steve has just lost a bet because he absolutely _does_ have a fuck-off face.

Steve approaches the mercifully empty line area with his hands shoved into his pockets. Bucky looks, well, shocked really, to see him and it takes everything Steve has to not smile politely and pretend he just happens to be walking by.

“Hey,” Bucky says, mildly concerned, “you here for the Pi Chi reunion?”

“No! Christ—no—” and Bucky just laughs in his face.

“What are you here for then?”

Steve lets out a breath. 

“Came to see you.”

Bucky leans back and gives him a hooded look. “That so?”

A group of people approaches the door then. Steve steps aside to let them pass and all of Bucky’s bluster disappears.

“No, wait,” he says, grabbing at Steve’s sleeve. “Just—hang tight for a minute.”

Steve can't help the hopeful twinge in his stomach. It's just barely fading by the time the group has all dispersed inside. Bucky turns to him sheepishly.

“You gonna stick around for a bit?”

“Can't,” Steve says. “I've got to finish this commission by tomorrow. Not yours, another one.” Bucky’s face definitely falls and Steve adds, “But I’m not working tomorrow morning.”

“Good,” Bucky says, pulling out his phone. “I'm texting you my address. Come over round eleven. I've got some episodes of SNL stacked up, we can watch those and eat breakfast or—something,” and Steve has to laugh because god _damn_ , Bucky has it just as bad, doesn't he?

“Sounds great,” Steve says, sincerely, and a grin splits Bucky’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ [tumblr link](http://sonatine.tumblr.com/post/145934961674/im-really-glad-so-many-of-you-wanted-a-sequel) ]
> 
> I don't know what happened. Part three will be up soon.
> 
> I legitimately nanny'ed for a kid once who had a friend named Kale.


	3. Chapter 3

The thing about coffee shops is: they're a business masquerading as a town square. Bucky sees all manner of human interaction, day in and day out. Really, he should change his business cards to say _anthropologist_ , but Natasha used one of her weekly vetoes and gave the cause as ‘pretentious.’

The barrier between him and the customers, afforded by the counter space, gives him some kind of leverage at least. It's a position of subtle power, granted, but it's not like Bucky lacks confidence on a daily basis.

Which is why it's absolutely absurd that he is sweating bullets through his shirt and frantically rehearsing, mentally, the conversation he is about to have with a six-foot, two-hundred-pound, walking beam of sunshine that cradles tiny infants against his sculpted chest like that isn't some kind of masturbatory fodder.

It’s 10:52am and Bucky has just woken up from a drug-like sleep. He even went to bed before 3am, so there is no reason for him to have slept through his five alarms—except maybe that the universe has been laughing at him ever since it dropped Steve at the doorstep of his coffee shop like a diamond gift-wrapped in newspaper.

The thing about Steve is: he’s lawful good and an optimist. He lives every day like he’s unafraid to die. And Bucky’s been on borrowed time since the beginning.

Bucky’s buzzer goes off at 10:58 because _of course_ Steve is punctual to a fault. Bucky pulls in a strangled breath, and then a proper one, and pushes the talk button. “Steve?”

+

Bucky’s apartment is at the top of a ninth-floor walk up. Steve has plenty of experience lugging strollers, toddlers, groceries, and oftentimes all three up an unreasonable amount of floors, but today he’s super attractively struggling for breath when he knocks on Bucky’s door.

It opens. Bucky stands on the other side in a soft, worn T-shirt, sweatpants, and hair sticking up all over the place that clearly suggests he’s just woken up.

It's a good thing Steve is already fighting for oxygen.

“Hey,” Bucky says, ushering him inside. “C’mon in. Sorry for the mess.”

The studio is spotless.

Bucky compulsively reaches out to straighten a picture hanging on the wall. “Help yourself to coffee. What’s your call: pancakes or waffles?”

“Eggs,” Steve says and Bucky chews on a smile.

“That wasn't an option, asshole,” he says, but starts breaking eggs into a bowl anyway. He shoves a chopping board and knife at Steve. “Here. _You_ can do the fruit salad. Or make smoothies. Your pick.”

“Jesus, brunch: you weren't kidding.”

“This is breakfast, Steve. It's still morning.”

“Some of us got up at four today,” Steve says, tampering the jab of his knife with a smile.

“Hey, lookit that, you were rolling out when I was rolling in.”

“You didn't open this morning?” Steve says in surprise.

“Nah, it's my day off. Natasha’s in charge all by herself. To be honest, she could run the place, but I have to draw the line somewhere.”

“It’s your day off? Buck, I could've come over later—let you sleep.”

“Nah.” Bucky ignites the stove and starts up the eggs. “Can't sleep too late or it throws off my schedule.”

“I feel that.”

“Yeah, I bet you do, slugger. All those kids screaming you awake at all hours of the night.”

“I don't actually do overnight jobs,” Steve says, enjoying the lines of Bucky’s back. It's very calming, in fact, cooking together in his tiny kitchen. There's a small island with two bar stools opposite a fridge, sink, and combination stove/oven. It’s uncluttered in the way that so many places aren't. “I've got my limits too.”

“Sure, champ. How's that fruit coming? Blender’s over there.”

Steve occupies himself making smoothies. They're standing side-by-side at the counter and Bucky nudges him now and then with his shoulder. The warm feeling Steve is coming to associate with Bucky persists, and Steve, he admits it, is a huge paranoid weirdo because he is just so afraid that this new, tenuous contentment is going to be yanked out from underneath him.

+

It's becoming a thing now, spending Fridays together. Steve comes over to Bucky’s around eleven and they leisurely cook, watch TV, sometimes do the leftover Sunday crossword that neither has gotten around to yet, or just sit and chat.

Sometimes on Monday or Wednesday evenings Bucky comes over to Steve’s, after he’s woken up and before he has to go to work. Steve makes sure to wake up early enough to finish all his work by the evening, and they cook dinner together or order in and sit out on the fire escape that's connected to Sam’s room.

“Your roommate doesn't mind us using his room like a waystation?”

“Nah. We’ve been friends since high school. We shared a studio together when we first moved up here.”

Bucky quirks an eyebrow and Steve compulsively adds, “He’s _super_ straight but not one of those no-homo bros.”

“I didn't ask,” Bucky says, but he's grinning.

Sometimes they just laze around on the couch with music or podcasts in the background while Steve sketches and Bucky reads or messes around on his phone. It's all just really damn _nice,_  and Steve _thinks_ they're dating, even though neither of them has formally brought it up.

Because, really, when you're young and poor, the old dating rules don't apply. Neither of them like to burn money on non-essentials and Bucky seems to dislike crowds as much as Steve does, to his everlasting delight (although he’s pretty sure there's a not-so-great reason behind this).

But Bucky hasn't made any move to kiss him or come onto him or—really given any indication that he wants their relationship to move into physical territory at all, and it's driving Steve _crazy_.

It's all just so uncertain when everything goes unspoken. Steve doesn't want to spook Bucky and declare his massive affection for him, if Bucky is happy with the way things are. And Steve also doesn't want to come out and say, _Hey, I like dudes_ in case Bucky is—straight? (though Steve’s sure he isn't) or asexual or— Steve just wants to be respectful, mostly, despite wanting to spend all of his time with Bucky, who is rapidly becoming Steve’s favorite person.

But maybe, the little voice in the back of Steve’s head says, Bucky is worried about the same thing.

So Steve resolves to not panic and just take things slow.

+

He holds out two months: until one Monday when they're watching _Star Trek_ at Bucky’s. It's near on 4pm, with lazy sunlight filtering through Bucky’s curtain-less windows.

Bucky’s apartment is basically a kitchen, a couch pushed up against the end of the bed, and a TV on the wall. The bed is elevated and sits on a frame made of bookshelves (Steve is pretty sure Bucky made it himself) which are stuffed full of battered sci-fi and mystery pulps.

Anyhow, Steve leans back against the couch to find a sharp pain in his back in the form of Asimov’s _I, Robot_ , and Bucky makes a stupid cyborg joke about himself, and Steve starts laughing for no reason other that he's just _really goddamn happy_ and it's Bucky’s crinkling-eyes smile that does it. Steve is leaning in and kissing him before his brain catches up with his body.

Bucky sighs into his mouth, startled but content, and his metal arm slides cool across the burning skin of Steve’s back. Steve’s hand is finally, _finally_ tangled in Bucky’s mop of hair and it's just as soft as Steve imagined it would be.

Steve loses himself so completely that it's a few minutes before he comes to. “ _Shit_ ,” he gasps, pulling back.

Bucky looks up at him, questioning, eyes glassy, hair mussed, and mouth so red that Steve has to shake himself. “Sorry,” Steve says, and Bucky looks—so pained and uncertain that Steve rushes on, “I didn't want to—pressure you or— I love hanging out with you, I want to spend time with you all the time, but I don't want to push you into anything you don't want,” and then Bucky is laughing.

“Oh. You idiot,” he says, pulling Steve against his chest with warm hands. “You got it all backwards.”

“Don't laugh at me,” Steve says.

“Can't help it. I'm an idiot too. Clint said you for sure had a girlfriend when you were doing his project, and I freaked out. It's happened before, ya know? That I ask out a guy and I got it wrong and he's straight and then things get...weird. Didn't want things to be weird with you.”

“I'm bisexual,” Steve feels the need to say.

“Cool.”

“I hope that's not a problem.”

“Easy, tiger,” Bucky says, and his entire demeanor is different now. Steve’s throat goes a little dry. “No problem here.”

“I just—  it's an important part of who I am.”

“Steve,” Bucky says, and his tone is so affectionate that Steve inexplicably feels like crying. “It is important.” He hesitates, and says, “It's you,” which still doesn't shake Steve’s doubts, and then adds, “I won't forget,” which is a little better.

“Okay,” Steve says.

+

The thing about being on borrowed time is: when you have a good thing, you don't hesitate in keeping it around.

+

Bucky is manhandling Steve onto the bed, even though Steve has a couple inches and a few dozens pounds on him, and it's _awesome._ Most guys and girls take one look at Steve and decide he’s the decisive one—not to mention that Steve spends most of his days being hyper-aware and responsible for another being. It’s just _nice_ to let someone else take charge for once.

Steve’s been fantasizing about this for so long that he knows this first time is not going to last long. At least Bucky seems to be on the same page: he's gasping into Steve’s mouth as they kiss and grind against each other, and then he slides a hand down Steve’s chest, questioning, and Steve says, _“Please,”_ and then he’s got his hand on Steve’s cock and it's game over before long.

Steve comes with a groan and Bucky holds him through the aftershocks, tenderly, as Steve pants against his neck. Once he’s caught his breath, Steve pulls out of Bucky’s embrace and slides down the length of his body.

“Hey, don't rush yourself,” Bucky says, his full-blown pupils belying his would-be casual concern. He makes a strangled sound as Steve takes him into his mouth and rests his metal hand, gently, on the back of Steve’s neck as if to ground himself to reality. He comes in Steve’s mouth almost silently (army habit?) and gazes down at him, shocked and warm.

Steve wipes his mouth on the sheet and crawls up next to Bucky with an incredible surge of affection. He’s glad to be the bulkier of the two now, because he can pull Bucky snug into his arms and kiss the top of his head and twine his hand into Bucky’s hair.

“Shit,” Bucky says, huffing a laugh. “This went beyond my wildest expectations,” and he clutches a hand into Steve’s shirt as if afraid he’ll disappear.

+

Steve realizes, slowly, that Bucky cares about quality over quantity. Bucky has a favorite mug and favorite bowl, a favorite hoodie and a favorite pair of jeans, exactly two pictures on his wall, and a pair of dog tags that live on the top shelf in his closet.

“Doesn't feel right to throw them out,” Bucky shrugs when Steve discovers them one evening while feeling around in the dark for a spare T-shirt he can put on to go fetch milk from the corner store.  “But doesn't feel right to wear them either.”

On impulse, Steve slings them around his own neck. He likes the weight and coolness of the metal, but then says, “Sorry,” and moves to take them off.

Bucky’s hand shoots out to stop him. “No, don't,” he says huskily. “Keep ’em.”

+

Steve stops by the coffee shop more and more now that he's not worried about seeming too pushy or desperate. He generally comes by on Tuesday or Thursday with Brynlee on the way back from their daily walk.

“God,” Bucky rasps one night, pulling Steve flush against him in bed and laying hot, open-mouthed kisses onto his neck, “do you know what seeing you with a tiny baby cradled against your shoulder _does_ to me? It's like a biological imperative.”

“You want me to be the father of your children?” Steve cracks, and it makes Bucky laugh as intended, but Steve catches an involuntary moan underneath.

+

The best thing about Bucky’s jobs is that they're a nice contrast.

At the coffee shop people talk to him all day. At the bar, people chat with him in line for approximately fifteen seconds, eyes sliding past him after the first introduction.

Straight girls and gay guys flirt, cis bros clap him on the back bro-style and try to one-up each other as to who can be the chummiest bro of all the bros. Lesbians smile at him kindly and wearily. They know the perils of the tightrope between invisibility and hypervisibility all too well.

His days are a constant leveling of moods and energy, a careful balance between exhaustion and rest. But with Steve, it's just _easy._  Easy in a way that things have never been before.

Bucky just really fucking likes him (and really likes fucking him). He keeps expecting to get tired of seeing Steve, but he never does.

And he keeps expecting Steve to leave, but he never does that either. He keeps showing up at Bucky’s door with that stupidly warm smile and _Bucky’s goddamn dogtags around his neck,_ and Bucky is just—always happy to have him around.

+

Steve is sitting on the ground in front of the coffee shop watching Brynlee take careful toddling steps from one side of the stoop to the other (okay, holding tight to his index finger, but Steve is proud of her anyway) when Bucky appears beside him, smelling like smoke and sweat.

“Hey dickface, you can use the key I gave you,” Bucky says, hauling him up for a kiss. “Hey baby girl,” he adds, planting a kiss onto Brynlee’s flyaway hair. She makes a face at him and burrows further into Steve’s neck.

“I'm so hurt! You liked me well enough yesterday,” and Steve definitely did not make the photo of Brynlee sleeping on Bucky’s shoulder his phone background, computer screen saver, or contact profile picture for when Bucky calls.

“It's the cigarette smoke, I think,” Steve says, holding the gate open so that Bucky can unlock the door.

“Good. Glad to know she's not a freak like you,” and his eyes crinkle up as Steve shrugs.

“Can't help it. I imprinted on you like this. Your fault for turning up smelling this way the first time we met.”

“Get inside, you weirdo, and get the coffee started,” Bucky says, turning on the lights.

Steve places Brynlee in the bouncy chair Bucky installed behind the bar and turns on the various appliances.

Bucky comes up behind him and plasters himself against Steve’s back, resting his head on Steve’s shoulder.

“Long night?”

“Not too bad. Yours? You finish that commission?”

“ _Yes,_ by two. Got a full five hours of sleep.”

“Nice,” Bucky says and presses a kiss against Steve’s neck. “You want dark or light roast today?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ [tumblr link](http://sonatine.tumblr.com/post/146105919244/aaaaaand-heres-the-third-and-final-part-of-this) ]


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